


Winding Down

by nochick_fics



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Conqueror of Shamballa, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7721752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nochick_fics/pseuds/nochick_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfons contemplates his mortality.  And Ed's hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winding Down

**Author's Note:**

>  Originally posted to LiveJournal on 10/5/10.

Sitting quietly in the dark and feeling considerably calm and mellow on account of the alcohol presently coursing throughout his diseased body, Alfons Heiderich settled back in his seat and took a slow, deep breath, savoring the rush of fresh air and grateful that his lungs had given him a temporary reprieve from their usual betrayal. Indeed, the very act of breathing without incident nowadays was a gift. A rare one at that.  
  
The young man smiled to himself as the sound of gentle snoring floated up to his ears, and he gazed down at the vaguely discernible silhouette contorted on the small sofa beside him. Although retiring to their respective beds did seem to be the wiser option, at least for Ed’s sake, Alfons couldn’t bring himself to part from him just yet. And so instead, he placed a soothing hand on the head nestled snugly against his thigh. After briefly--and rather fiendishly--contemplating pinching Ed’s nostrils closed, he let his fingers weave through the lush golden locks that had pooled in his lap and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation of the smooth strands as they grazed against his skin. He then brought a section of Ed’s hair up to his nose and inhaled deeply, all too mindful of the ache in his heart. Beautiful stuff, that hair of his. If only he had more time to enjoy it.  
  
But no, there was no point in lamenting. Doing so would not halt the inevitable: he was going to die. And that he was going to do so when he finally felt as if he had a real reason to live was neither here nor there; cursing the irony wouldn’t change a thing. The only thing he could do was take whatever joy and comfort there was to be found in these stolen moments, such as they were... until they were no more.


End file.
